


Destiel Fanfic Season 15 Episode 1: The Powers That Be

by BlueDaze, EllenOfOz, Violetlyvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Fic collab, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pining, Slow Burn, Spiders, Team Free Will, Zombies, destiel fanfic season 15, season 14 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueDaze/pseuds/BlueDaze, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: Season 15, episode 01: Zombies and feelings, who knows what’s worse? Team Free Will are dealing with both in yet another apocalypse. This one feels a little different though, given that Chuck has flipped the whole script, but when one writer gives up, others will step in. Dean, Sam and Castiel must make new allies and face new foes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **=❤=Credits=❤=**  
>  Authors: [EllenofOz](https://ellen-of-oz.tumblr.com/) and [VioletlyVanilla](https://violetlyvanilla.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: Evelyn([anaturalsuperfan](https://anaturalsuperfan.tumblr.com/)) aka BlueDaze  
> Beta: [Savetheclaypots](https://curioussubjects.tumblr.com)  
>  
> 
>  **About Destiel Fanfic Season 15:**
> 
> Welcome to the Destiel Fanfic Season 15 Project! This series will comprise of 20 episodes (as separate works under the DestielFanficSeason15 collection) posting every Thursday for the next 20 weeks during the hiatus between season 14 and 15. This project is a collaboration between a group of authors, artists and betas. Each week different authors and artists will take part, with various configuration of authors and artists working in teams for each episode. 
> 
> The endnotes will be updated with a link to the next episode once it posts, and you can always see all works in the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DestielFanficSeason15). Please also consider joining us on tumblr at [destielfanficseason16](https://destielfanficseason16.tumblr.com/) and [destielwritersroom](https://destielwritersroom.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Notes on the series: Destiel is endgame. While this fic is rated for PG-13, later fics in the series will be rated a lot higher, some Explicit. Please read the tags for individual episodes, although there are unlikely to be anything more graphic than canon-level violence.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Episode: 
> 
> Destiel Fanfic Season 15, Episode 2  
> [Fresh Mistakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856969/) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856969/

_[A fast montage of scenes, with Led Zepplin’s “Thank You” playing over the top]_

_The lights pop, sparks rain down as Castiel walks into the barn, and Dean fires shotgun rounds at him._

_Castiel says to Dean, “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_

_In Bobby’s kitchen, Castiel says, “You should show me some respect.”_

_Chuck says, "I'm definitely a God. A cruel, capricious God."_

_In Chuck’s house, Castiel says, "We're making it up as we go along." Dean glances at him in surprise._

_Dean finds Castiel in Purgatory, they hug._

_Dean hands the mixtape back to Castiel._

_Dean and Castiel reunite after the Empty, being happy, hugging._

_Jack smiles at Dean, Sam and Castiel._

_Jack explodes out of the Ma’lak box, his eyes glowing brightly._

_Dean points Chuck’s gun at Jack in the graveyard. Then drops it, says, “No.”_

_Chuck says, “Fine, have it your way.”_

_Jack is killed. Castiel kneels beside his body, as Chuck says, “Welcome to the End”._

_Zombies converge from every direction._

=❤=❤=❤=

## Chapter 1

The ground shook. Cracks opened, running through the grassy spaces between headstones with deafening thunder. 

Castiel backed towards where Dean and Sam stood, trying to see into the shadows lying low over the graveyard. Souls were escaping, flying upwards out of a deep, glowing crevice—an opening that Castiel knew went all the way down to Hell.

“What the hell is happening?” Dean shouted, turning a worried glance towards Cas.

Castiel replied, “Souls. They’re souls...from Hell.”

What the hell was Chuck playing at? Headstones all around them were exploding now, the occupants of each grave climbing free of the rubble. Zombies? _Really_?

Castiel dropped his blade into his hand, holding it ready, even as more and more shuffling bodies made their way, moaning and growling, towards them. Dean had grabbed parts of a cast iron fence for him and Sam to wield, but Castiel doubted that would make much difference to the undead. The only ways to kill them were beheading, an exceptionally precise headshot, or an angel blade to the animating essence. He’d try his best.

They formed a loose, back-to-back circle, completely surrounded by zombies. As they advanced, Castiel could see that some of them were more decomposed than others, barely skeletons held together by the clothing they wore for burial. Others were more fleshy, their partially rotten bodies oozing, but solid. He’d target them first, but as he realised just how many were in the crowd, there was no chance they were going to be able to take them down fighting. 

Feelings of betrayal welled up again—Chuck had orchestrated this whole thing. He couldn’t believe his own beloved father had continuously placed him in situations that not only was he doomed to fail at, but also thrust Sam and Dean in harm’s way time and time again, for his own entertainment. He struggled to believe that all they’ve sacrificed, all he had personally given up in the name of free will and autonomy, was all for nothing. Well, as Dean would say, fuck that. 

He pulled up whatever scraps of grace were still lingering inside his damaged true form, and found that perhaps there was a little more there than he’d believed up until now. In fact, a swelling of power rushed forth, and he felt his wings manifest and stretch wide above them. With no time to wonder, the zombies reached them and poured onto them, rotten and twisted hands grasping and tearing. Castiel shouted to Dean and Sam, “Shut your eyes!” He curled his wings protectively around them, then released the energy, blasting a wave of holy energy outwards. And when it was all gone, he collapsed to the ground into blackness.

=❤=❤=❤=


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel stirred, opening his eyes to darkness. He closed them, then opened them again—still dark. Was he dead? Was he back in the Empty? Panic clawed its way up his throat.

He tried to sit up with a start, but found his limbs weren’t interested in cooperating. A shuffling noise beside him caught his attention, and he realised it wasn’t pitch black after all, but a dim glow from a phone screen lit up one corner of the room. 

A muffled voice said, “Hey, you awake?” Dean. Relief sank its way into Castiel’s vessel.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, his voice rough. He tried to roll over towards Dean, but Dean stood up and shuffled over to him, carrying his phone to light the way. Castiel could see Sam sitting over against a far wall, light illuminating the look of relief on his face. 

Dean slumped down beside whatever Castiel was lying on—it felt like a lumpy couch. Something hard was digging into his back, and he reached for his grace to ease the ache, only to find it… missing.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, the cuts and scrapes on his face dark. 

Castiel moved his arms and legs again experimentally, and found they had decided to function again now that he was more awake. “I’m okay, I think. Very tired.” He lifted one hand to rub at his face. “Weak. Where are we?”

“Zombietown.” Dean said, raising his eyebrows and grinning. Always so quick to make a joke. Castiel wasn’t actually sure if he was serious or not, so he just stared, waiting for the elaboration.

“We’re in a basement, in a church. We had to lay low, so they wouldn’t find us.” Dean spoke quietly, as though he didn’t want anyone outside the room to hear him.

Castiel struggled to put the pieces together. “The zombies? They’re still out there?” When Dean nodded, Castiel asked, “How did we get away from the graveyard?”

Dean hesitated, glancing over to Sam. “You...well, you kinda—”

“You power-smited all of them, Cas,” Sam said, putting his phone to one side. 

“What the hell, Sam? I thought we were going to let him into it gently?” Dean threw at him, then turned back to Castiel.

“What’s the point of doing that, Dean? He’s going to have to find out sooner or later.” Sam sounded so exhausted, so over it all.

“Find out what?” Castiel couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean’s face. He looked worried, which ratcheted Castiel’s panic back up.

Dean took a breath. “You burned out pretty hard, man. The whole cemetery was trashed, trees down and everything. After you blasted it all down, you just collapsed. We couldn’t wake you up, so we bailed out of there, drove back to town here, but the zombies were all over the road. We’ve ditched the car in the junkyard back there, figured she was saver hiding amongst her own kind,” he gestured over his shoulder at a blank wall, “and found the door to this dungeon.” 

“Cellar,” Sam corrected, wincing as he shifted his injured shoulder.

“Whatever,” Dean said, his expression earnest, careful. “Cas…we’re worried you might have burned out for good. You could...could be human.”

Ice spread through Castiel, radiating outwards from his stomach. He didn't think he'd ever get used to these physiological reactions. Or perhaps he would, if he really was human now. The idea of becoming human again had been weighing heavily on him for years now, ever since he’d recovered part of his grace from Metatron, and Heaven had started to decline. Faced with the possibility of it now, though, was terrifying. What if he became so helpless he was no longer able to aid the Winchesters when they most needed it. 

He replayed what he could remember from the graveyard, each memory carving fresh wounds in his heart: Chuck’s betrayal, Jack’s death, the souls rising from hell, the undead…and a surge of power that felt a lot like his full, restored grace. 

Could Chuck have given that back to him, only to have it burn away in a last act of sacrifice? Had he planned this course of action, too? Surely, even he couldn’t be that capricious. 

But having his full power back had felt amazing—liberating. He’d momentarily felt like he could fly.

“I think...I think for a moment there, my wings were back.” His throat closed up and he had to stop, a sting in his eyes betraying his humanity. Angels didn’t cry. The devastated look on Dean’s face was like a second punch to the gut.

He reached for his grace again, and let out an explosive breath of relief when he found it there, faintly, but it was like trying to grasp a candle flame. 

“It’s there, it’s okay. It’s faint, but it’s there. It’ll take time for me to recover it, though.”

The relief on both Dean and Sam’s faces mirrored his own, he was sure. Dean’s smile lit Castiel up from the inside, as it always did. 

Dean looked away, though, and moved back from the couch. Castiel watched him go, remembering that up until very recently, they’d been at each other’s throats. Jack was dead, but at least it had been at Chuck’s hand, rather than Dean’s in the end.

“What about Jack?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Dean glanced at Sam again. Was there something they were keeping from him? “He’s gone, Cas. Don’t you remember that?” 

“Yes, of course, Chuck smited him.” The memory of Jack’s burnt-out eyes, the charred wing prints on the grass… He swallowed heavily, not able to ask any more about it.

“We cremated him.” Sam sounded emotionless as he looked back to the phone.

Castiel’s chest ached—he would have liked to have said goodbye. "You couldn't wait for me?" Castiel asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Dean looked upset, too. "We had to, Cas, we didn't know how far we'd have to run. You were out cold."

Castiel nodded, then gathered his strength and sat up on the couch, realising his trench coat was missing. He glanced around and was relieved to see it draped over the back of the couch. 

“What about Chuck?” he asked, watching Dean cross the room towards Sam again.

“No clue. Asshole lit outta town.” Dean slumped down against the wall, where he picked up a bottle and took a swig of whatever was inside.

Castiel let his eyes move over to Sam, wondering why he was so silent. “Sam? Are you all right?”

Sam’s eyes flicked up, then down again. “No, not really.” 

Castiel struggled to his feet, then shuffled over to where Sam was sitting. Sam looked up at him curiously. “May I heal you?”

“Do you think you’ve got enough grace for that?” Sam asked, a flash of worry across his face. 

Castiel reached out to touch Sam’s shoulder. He tried to summon grace, but it slipped out of his grasp. He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Sam. It might take a while to regenerate.”

“Thanks, Cas. Guess I’ll just have to do it the slow way.” Sam grimaced as he tried to raise his arm. 

Castiel stepped back, turning to Dean. “Dean? Are you hurt as well?”

Dean swallowed his mouthful with a smack of his lips. “I’m just fuckin’ peachy.”

Castiel eyed him dubiously, then retreated to his couch. “Is now really the best time to be drinking, when we—?”

Dean turned to him, eyes blazing in the dim light. “What do you want me to do, Cas? We’ve just been attacked by actual zombies after finding out that we’re part of some fucked up thriller God’s been writing all this time for his own entertainment, and we just lost Jack. Again. So excuse me while I attempt to block all this bullshit out!” He lifted the bottle to his lips again, taking a long gulp. 

Castiel knew he shouldn’t let the indignation get the better of him, but Dean seemed to be forgetting what had actually happened the last few days. “Well, excuse me for being the only one to actually try to help Jack rather than try to lock him up in a box! Maybe if he hadn’t been so upset about the fact that you tricked him into it, we wouldn’t have got into this mess.”

“We been over this already, Cas. You knew he was dangerous. You knew what he was capable of. Don’t put this crap on us.”

“Hey, hey, come on,” Sam tried. “Remember the zombies just upstairs? Fight later. Come here, I found something.”

Castiel and Dean glared at each other for a few moments more, then Dean turned away to take another drink. 

“What is it, Sam?” Castiel asked with a sigh.

“Looks like the zombies are only in this local area. There does seem to be an increase of supernatural activity across the rest of the country...maybe the world, not sure. But no mention of zombies that I can find.”

They let that process for a few moments, then Dean asked, “So Chuck just gave us our own mini-zombie-apocalypse?”

“Seems so, yeah,” Sam said, not looking away from the screen. “He seemed more upset than that, kinda weird how it’s all contained here.”

“So couldn’t we just, what—grab the car and get the hell outta Dodge?” Dean asked.

Castiel wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly. “What about the zombies?”

“Don’t particularly care. We might as well hole up in the bunker and wait for Chuck to bring it all down.” He gestured with the mostly empty bottle as he spoke, then took another drink, coughing a little as he swallowed. “Fuck, this stuff is disgusting.”

“Is the bunker still an option?” Sam asked quietly. “Wouldn’t that be where Chuck would come for us?” 

“Yeah, but we’d have our own weapons and beds and fresh underwear,” Dean said irreverently, taking another gulp. 

“What is it?” Castiel asked, peering closer at the bottle.

“Just some wine we found down here. I think it’s for the church.”

Castiel shook his head. “You’re drinking the sacramental wine? Dean, that’s low, even for you.” 

Dean turned to him, an offended scowl on his face. “Excuse me? Look, I was hungry, but all that was in the church was some shrivelled-up fruit of some kind, and this wine seemed like a good option.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. 

Sam huffed impatiently. “Cas is right, Dean. If we’re gonna get out of here, we need supplies. I’ll need to fix up my shoulder until I can get it looked at.”

Castiel and Dean shared a glance, then Castiel stood up. “I’ll go.” 

“I’m coming too,” Dean said, getting back to his feet with a grunt and a crack in his knees. 

“Dean, you’re hardly in a condition to—” Castiel began, but Dean cut him off, glaring.

“You think I’m gonna let you run out on us again? I’m not letting you outta my sight.”

Castiel recoiled like Dean had physically punched him. “What? I would never…” He gathered his wits and walked closer to Dean, pointing at himself while he spoke as forcefully as he could without shouting. “My own Father just revealed he’s been hurting the one I … the people I love, and you think I’m just going to abandon you now? I’m grieving just as much as you are, Dean, but I know where my loyalty lies. I won’t leave you. Neither of you.” He looked pointedly at Sam as well, then turned and stormed towards the narrow stone stairs, grabbing his trench coat on the way past. 

“Cas, wait—” Dean called, but Castiel was already on the stairs, heading to the door to the church.

=❤=❤=❤=

Dean huffed in annoyance, turning to look at Sam as he headed for the stairs after Cas. “Don’t go anywhere. Even if we’re not back in an hour.” 

Sam just leveled a look at him. “I’ve been worse. Please just…try not to kill each other.” 

“Can’t promise that,” Dean muttered as he headed up the stairs, the wine he’d drunk sloshing unpleasantly in his stomach. He needed a cheeseburger, but he didn’t suppose the local McD’s would be open in a zombie apocalypse.

“Dean?” Sam called, just as Dean was about to open the door that Cas had disappeared through. He turned back to peer into the dim cellar. “I just saw a news report that someone had been gutted by a creepy clown a few states over.”

“What, like John Wayne Gacy, creepy-ass serial killer clown? Didn’t we just…” 

“Yep.”

“Fucking Chuck.” He shook his head, furious all over again. No, they needed to get out of this mess first. Then they’d deal with whatever Chuck was going to throw at them next in his little game of his. “I mean it—stay put.”

He turned and hurried up the last few steps, opening the wooden door and peering out into the space beyond. The stone wall of the church stretched out in front of him, pews lined up on one side of the tall stone columns supporting the vaulted ceiling. This church had to be old— surely there weren’t many small buildings built of stone and wood like this around the place. Sweeping his glance across the empty pews, he found Cas standing in front of the altar. 

While Castiel was passed out, he and Sam had driven all night, gave Jack an expedited hunter’s funeral in the woods, and now the sun was starting to rise. He'd been half-worried that they'd ended up in some fucked up alt-universe where it was always night, so he was quietly relieved to see pre-dawn light filtering through the stained glass windows. As he looked around the interior of the church properly for the first time, it took Dean a few moments to work out what was missing from the picture as he walked over to Cas. Not that he went into many churches on a regular basis, but there seemed to be a distinct lack of crosses or images of anyone nailed to things anywhere near the altar. Instead, the flat table held the same small pieces of fruit, arranged around a heart-shaped stone.

“These are figs, grapes, a pomegranate.” Cas named each of the items in turn, not turning to look at Dean. He picked up a twig with a few greyish leaves and shriveled berries on it. “I believe these are olives. This church has been repurposed to some kind of pagan deity.”

Dean didn’t reply, but looked around the church instead, away from where Castiel stood. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to speak to him anyway—things had been coming to a head before all this shit with Chuck went down, and now it was just getting downright unbearable. He hated fighting with Cas, but he didn’t know how to apologize for any of it. Instead, he kept it to himself and hoped there would be time later to sort things out. After they went back home without…

No. He couldn’t touch those thoughts just yet. Time to get through this zombie crap, and save the Hallmark for later.

He walked down the aisle, confused by the clean, bare walls on each side of the building. Weren't there usually shrines or statues, other icons and shit? The saints in the stained glass windows looked down at him with vague disapproval, so he dropped his eyes to the doors at the front.

The street out the front was quiet, with no sign of either life or…un-life. Undeath. Maybe they hid during the day? 

"Perhaps they don't like sunlight?" Cas said, quietly, right behind Dean's ear, making him jump. How did the angel always know what he was thinking?

“Or it’s Shaun of the Dead zombies and they’re just late risers,” Dean said, swiping his hand down his face. He gestured along the road to the west. "There was a gas station just up there. They'll have stuff."

"Stuff?" Cas murmured, but followed along after Dean as he headed for the church's side door. 

Outside, the town seemed quiet. This was the main road into town, and cars were still driving past now and then, although they seemed to drive fairly slowly. The church gardens were in full bloom, and Dean was out of the churchyard and a few houses up before he realised Cas wasn't behind him. 

Cas was standing beside a bush full of large white flowers, inhaling their scent, his eyes closed and exhaustion in every line of his body. Dean stopped and stared for a few moments, his heart in his throat. They'd been through so much in the last few months, and although he desperately wanted to comfort his friend—his "brother," as he'd named Cas purely to put distance between him and feelings he wasn't ready to face—if he allowed his emotions to get the better of him, he might never be able to rein them all in. He knew that Cas had believed in Jack from the start, had tried to help him, while Dean had roped Sam into eliminating a threat. Ultimately, they had all failed him, and it had cost Mary her life. And now Jack was gone, too. 

He took a deep breath, releasing it again to get his mind back in the game. Chuck had put them here to break them, but he wasn't gonna let that happen. Not until they were safe in the bunker, at least. 

He called, "C'mon, Cas, don't really have time to smell flowers."

Cas turned his face to Dean, who had to catch his breath at the pain held in that gaze. "My Father built this world so perfectly. The beauty in these flowers alone, the intricacy. And it's all just…just a backdrop for some game? My own existence is to serve his creations, I…" He paused for a few moments as they left the churchyard and headed up the sidewalk. "Dean, it's all a lie."

Dean turned and put a hand on Cas' shoulder, stopping him. "No, it's real. We live lives, okay? We're still here, no matter what that asshole has tried to pull on us. Let's just get through this, get outta here and we can all cry about it later, okay?" He turned and stalked off before he could do something as stupid as hugging Cas, even though he craved that comfort himself. Mind in the game, Winchester. 

The gas station was just a block up from the church, and while there were no cars on the lot, the light shone from the Gas'n'Sip store.

Inside, a tinny rendition of “Stop In The Name Of Love” played, while an attendant—no, what had Cas called it? _Sales associate_ —stocked some shelves with crinkly packets of chips. 

He wore a baseball cap pulled low, but when Dean walked in and the door alert beeped, he looked up and came forward, smiling. Dean nearly both screamed and reached for his gun, but managed to avoid that. Cas came in a few steps behind Dean, and let out a soft gasp of surprise as he saw the sales associate standing there. 

The man was pale, very pale, and the dark circles under his eyes looked bruised. His gas station uniform polo shirt with a “Johnny” nametag was the only clean thing on him—the rest of him was scuffed with dirt. He shuffled forward, one foot bent away to the side in an unnatural angle, and as he leaned his elbow on the shelf, Dean could see that his left hand and forearm were completely missing, only shredded flesh dangling from the stump. 

The man said, his several missing teeth making his words indistinct, "Hey, there. Can I help you boys out with something?"

=❤=❤=❤=


	3. Chapter 3

Johnny busied himself with scanning each of the items Dean and Cas had gathered from around the store. 

Dean was about _this_ close to exploding into a scream. Johnny might be the friendliest zombie he'd ever encountered (God, wasn't that a sentence?), but he was still _dead_ and still—he shuddered—actively decomposing. The guy had quite happily helped them to find first aid items on the shelf ("Sorry, I'm nearly out. People seem to be gettin' hurt 'round here a lot lately,") and to their selection of snack food, including pie ("They must've changed the recipe for these—just don't taste like they used to.") Cas and Dean had shared more what-the-actual-fuck glances in the last ten minutes than they had for weeks. 

Johnny scanned the packaged salad Dean had put in for Sam's benefit, then clicked his tongue when his finger detached and fell onto the salad's plastic wrap. He picked the digit up and tucked it into his pocket. "Sorry there, seem to be having a problem with my uh, whatcha-call-em…y'know, stuff-touchers."

"Hands?" Cas asked, sounding a lot calmer than Dean certainly felt. 

The sight of Johnny beaming through his broken teeth nearly made Dean revisit the sacramental wine all over again. 

"That's them, yeah!" he said, enthusiastically packing the groceries into a plastic bag with his one hand. 

Dean and Cas shared another glance, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry," Cas tried. 

"Nah, it's cool. I'll just go visit Jessica in the square. She put my foot back on for me just an hour ago." 

Dean quickly tapped his card and managed to stall long enough to let Cas take the bag. There was no way he was gonna touch it, not after Fingers McGee had been all over it. 

"Have a great day, now!" Johnny said as they left, the door swinging closed behind them. 

As they headed back to the street, Dean said, "We're not gonna tell Sammy about the, uh, the finger thing, right?" 

"I'm not sure. He does seems to like 'gross stuff' more that you do."

Cas' finger quotes always made Dean feel all warm inside, and he couldn’t help a grin. "Not this time. Kid's been through enough, without knowing that a zombie’s bits were all over his food. Hey, that shit's not contagious, is it?" 

Cas looked at him, fatigue all over his face. "I don't know, Dean. This is Chuck's creation. This world's old mythology may no longer apply."

The reality of their situation settled back over Dean’s shoulders like a heavy sack of bullshit. They really had no idea what they were dealing with here, especially when faced with something like Johnny. They needed to get back to Sam and get the hell out of here, and regroup at the bunker.

He turned around and nearly ran into a shuffling zombie, a man with half of his jaw missing and a blank, filmy gaze. Dean pulled the angel blade from his coat and dropped into a crouch, but the zombie put his arm out to move in front of another zombie behind him—a long-haired woman with one arm missing and something oozing through her dark shirt. 

A memory flashed behind his eyes—Cas, standing in front of Jack in the cemetery. Another image, of Jack on his knees in the dirt, while Dean pointed Chuck's gun at him. 

No. This was why Dean wouldn't be sleeping for the foreseeable future. As soon as he had so much as closed his eyes in the small hours under the church… 

Dean put the blade away quickly and held up his hands to show he meant no harm. The two zombies shuffled off as fast as they were able. 

“Any idea what the fuck is going on here, Cas?” Dean asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Did you hear Johnny mention something about someone called Jessica, at the square? Maybe that might be worth a look.” When Dean looked at him, Cas was checking up and down the street, a worried frown on his face. 

Dean pulled out his phone and fired off a quick message to Sam: “Townsfolk seem a bit… zombie”, then he realised they might as well go find him anyway. “Let’s go dump this stuff at the church, then grab Sam and check out the square.”

=❤=❤=❤=

Sam was used to waiting on Dean and Cas. It seemed that when the two of them were sent on supply runs, delay was often inevitable. The world was in total upheaval and God was a monster, but Dean would still take Cas on a comparative journey of beef jerky versus beer nuts. And Cas was likely to go along with it. This time, they were probably going to be shooting and slashing their way through some zombies as an extra distraction. Sam had no doubt, no matter the peril, the biggest distraction for those two was going to be trying to not get lost staring into eyes and slipping gazes away from parched lips. Such was Sam’s lot in life. Diligently, Sam hooked his phone into the charger and typed out a list of people he could contact for help with… whatever this was. 

After an hour’s work, Dean and Cas had still not returned. Sam’s shoulder still felt like someone had stuck a hot poker all the way through it, and he was sick of holding a handkerchief over the wound—the bandages they'd had in the car were a little short for wrapping around his chest. 

When his phone buzzed with a text from Dean about zombie townsfolk, he decided he'd done enough sitting around. He climbed his way up to the basement window and had a rough gander. There were definitely people going about their day outside, cars were slowly driving through the streets, the shops were opening their doors. Definitely no one was looking like a _Thriller_ extra, like the cemetery zombies the night before, but Sam definitely saw something of a lurch in the movements of the postwoman and delivery drivers. 

"Going to get a closer look" Sam texted Dean back, grabbed a bag of salt pellets and carefully made his way out of the basement. It was a picturesque sort of town, awakening from a harsh winter into a sludgy spring. The tree branches were still bare but the magnolias in the cemetery were in full, scented bloom, the huge chalice-shaped flowers glowing white and pink in the bright sunshine. It was difficult to think of the Earth as doomed by its creator in this display of life and light. 

There was something drab about the outfits worn by the people going about their day to day, though. On closer inspection, they had the look of dust and dirt encrusted into the seams, as if the wearers had been rolling around in the dirt. Or had recently clawed their way out of a grave. 

Conversations and activities were happening around him, but Sam couldn't understand much of it. A woman pushing a shopping trolley was wandering aimlessly up and down the sidewalk, beeping her car keys as if looking for her vehicle but not quite getting into any particular one. The couple sat at the cafe were staring into their cups, growling as they passed the sugar. No one minded Sam’s presence or his increasingly frantic expression. Out the front of the fruit shop, a family grabbed fists full of grapes and shoved them slowly into their mouths, while the shopkeeper had her eyes fixed to the television which was playing a generic local morning show. It looked like a live broadcast, and Sam was relieved to see that the hosts weren’t trying to devour each other’s brains. At least in the part of the world wherever that show was being made, everything was normal, or just as fucked up as they usually were. Here in zombie town, there was an eerie sort of peace as people softly growled their greetings and went about repetitive tasks as if doing them gave the doers meaning. 

Then, in the midst of all that repetition, Sam saw a young woman walking several blocks ahead of him, in a pristine white shift dress, her long blond hair a vivid veil of sunlight. Sam's heart lurched into his throat. He would have known that flighty walk anywhere—could it be? It was the end of the world (again), after all.

The woman pulled a case out of the back of a parked ambulance. She was of an athletic build, long blonde hair flowing in the breeze, blue eyes hidden behind wayfarers. She looked as young as a college student, but the sway of her hips bespoke of a womanly disposition that was hard for anyone to ignore. It was undoubtedly Jessica, Sam’s girlfriend from all those years ago, in a nurse’s uniform, in the middle of zombie town, looking fresh as a daisy. He, on the other hand, was over a decade older. 

She darted from one side of the street to another, waving at people and greeting them. Jessica was speaking actual words, casual, friendly neighbourhood greetings like "how are your parents?", "good to see you," and "nice day for it". The few growling words she received in return were softer and deeper in tone, full of appraisal and (if zombies felt such things) friendliness. 

Sam wasn’t trying very hard to stay under the radar and once or twice he thought she might have seen him. He figured there wasn't much point in putting on a show of lurching, though he knew his shoulder was still hunched and perhaps his own gait a little uneven due to the unbalanced weight of his injury. All of which might have helped him blend into the crowd so to speak, but Sam was never one for insulting Jessica’s intelligence. She was here, truly a dead woman walking, a bright spark of life and beauty, in all the decay. Sam wondered what fresh agony Chuck had planned for him this time. She had to be up to something, right? She would know he was there, walking a few meters behind… 

He followed her towards the town square, fingering the salt bullets in his pocket. 

The closer they got to the centre of the town, the warmer it felt. The streets looked more lovely, lined with trees topped with fresh spring growth. The air was sweet with a citrus and ocean tang, though Sam knew they were nowhere near the coast. There was a bubbling white marble fountain in the centre of the square, Grecian statues standing within—Aphrodite inside the mouth of a clam, surrounded by the three graces, "Charm, Beauty, and Creativity," the detailed tourist information sign proclaimed in large letters. 

Jessica found a spot on the rim of the fountain and sat down. She brushed her hair away from her face as she rested in the shade of the naked figure of Beauty, alabaster reposed in a display of sinuous loveliness. The tanned flesh of the apples of Jessica’s cheeks were flushed in the growing heat of midday. As the townspeople filed themselves into a line, Jessica smiled at them. Speaking quietly, she gestured for one of them to come up to her. She looked into the woman’s eyes, checked her face and her hands, smiled and asked her to move on. The next person in line had a cut seeping on their forearm, she patched him up with bandages and then gently eased the sleeve of his shirt over the wound, buttoning up the cuff, so that it was not obvious he was injured. So on and so forth till the line was entirely finished. She nodded at the last of them and put away her scant supplies. 

“Please, my friends, look at each other now and remember your heart’s desires. All that makes you fond of one another, of your lives in this place, all the bonds that are unbroken by death and change. You’ll all go on, same as before, if you can remember.” 

She took out a golden instrument from her case, the lyre glinting in the sunlight, and played a tinkling tune. The zombies listened intently, staring into each other’s ashen faces. Then in couples or other configurations they slowly rose to their feet and walked away. When the square was almost empty, Sam stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Who are you?” 

“Sam!” Jessica smiled broadly. “I thought I saw you standing there, but I had to tend to the flock first.”

“What are you?” 

“Not the greatest dialogue,” Jessica chided. “But you’ve just shot God, so I’ll give you a pass this time, Sam.” 

Sam had expected to be afraid but as a stray cherry blossom fell, the petals drifting down to rain over her glorious hair, he felt nothing but happiness in seeing her again. Or some version of her, at least. 

“Do you have her memories as well as her face?” Sam asked. 

“I do, and there is enough of you in them to make you more than safe with me,” Jessica said. “But you are right, I am not your Jessica. I’m older for one, much older. And while I feel for you two, I’ve got a job to do, a lot of work stress on at the moment, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go and keep on keeping on.” 

“You’re trying to help them, the zombies? Did you make them?” 

Jessica looked at Sam and shook her head. “You know who made them.”

“Chuck?” Sam locked his jaw. “I mean, God? They look different to the ones in the cemetery.” 

“Yeah, because they’re not made from ghosts or ghouls or souls trapped in hell or whatever fancy cocktail of eighties pop music video he pulled from the archives when he was trying to reenact the temptation of Isaac,” Jessica sighed. “I can’t believe he’s being such a dick about it all.” 

Sam let out a surprised chuckle. “Tell me about it.” 

“When Chuck dark-lorded himself, he turned the whole world into zombies.” 

Sam shook his head. “That’s not what I saw online. I’m still in contact with hunters around the world and that didn’t happen.” 

Jessica gave him a hard stare. “It happened, but we dealt with it. We used everything we had and contained his influence to the cemetery and this town. Any strays we herded here and then amalgamated with the townsfolk who didn’t escape God’s wrath. Well, ‘contained’ is not what really happened, no one can contain the will of God. We just… changed up the narrative, and here we are, the last line of defence against everything falling apart.” 

“But these people, they are falling apart,” Sam said, looking at the slow moving inhabitants. 

“Well, yes,” Jessica frowned, a crease appearing between her brows that made her look suddenly ancient. “I know. No one’s got the sort of power to create like he has. I mean, I know my sisters and I try, but ultimately he’s the canon writer and we’re just here tying up loose ends, trying to create our own niche narrative to keep things going.” 

“Is that what you're doing, trying to keep them human? Patching them up?” Sam said, concerned. “How long is that going to work?” 

“Long enough for us to come up with something better,” Jessica said sharply. “Look as much as my form wants to hang out and shoot the breeze on old times, I’ve got a meeting to go to. It was good to see you, Sam. Tell Dean I said ‘Hi’.” 

It didn’t seem like a good idea to run after her, especially since she jumped behind the wheel of the ambulance and sirened her way off, presumably heading for somewhere else in town where another bunch of zombies were waiting for her care. 

Sam texted Dean with an update and then walked back towards the church basement, not sure what to make of any of it. 

=❤=❤=❤=


	4. Chapter 4

Their argument during the supply trip notwithstanding, Castiel was relieved to be back with Dean in the relative security of the church basement. They'd got back to find Sam still gone, so Dean ate some granola bars and Cheetos until he returned. Patching up Sam's shoulder was a quick affair, but they really did need to get him to a hospital. They had no idea if there was even a bullet in there, or Chuck's gun just mirrored the wound. 

Castiel was still having trouble getting a handle on his grace, so they were more vulnerable than usual. Trouble was, now Sam had found someone who looked like one of his many long-dead ex-girlfriends, they were forced to stay. Castiel frowned at Dean, who had put his feet up and was puddled in an exhausted heap in a misshapen old armchair, his eyes slowly dipping as his chin tipped into his chest. Dean was going to fall asleep, whether he knew it or not. Castiel’s anger evaporated into something softer as he watched Dean struggle to stay awake.

There was a version of peace that was very unique to Dean, Castiel had long thought. For the past few years, they had lived within that unsatisfying state of neutrality. It was not something Castiel particularly enjoyed, but it gratified him that for Dean it was enough. What was enough for Dean had always been enough for Castiel, year after year. A decade here, a millennia there, what was one human lifetime of dissatisfaction to a being like Castiel when Dean was a candle burning at both ends? Castiel lost himself in watching the flickering flame, committing the years with the Winchesters to his immortal remembrance like some fervent collector photographing butterflies and letting them flutter in the belljar of his mind that was between him and Chuck. Or as things turned out, between him and his own conscience now that Chuck… No, that didn’t bear thinking upon yet. 

Castiel would withhold his song of love and longing if he ever returned to the host, if ever there were angels chorusing in Heaven again. He’d wander the Godless earth till every last Winchester descendent died out. He’d guard the bunker and maintain the Impala till the black hole of time ate everything up. Till Chuck was dead or gone or imprisoned, or changed to something he could no longer understand. Till his will was exhausted and his wings disintegrated, Castiel would remember the singe of the fire. 

“Say something, will ya? Giving me heartburn just watching you angst,” Dean mumbled sleepily. “So your old man turned out a lot like my old man, circa 2004. And now it’s apocalypse ‘The Walking Dead copyright dispute’ edition. Don’t mean you gotta look like the world has ended. Those pretty blues are looking pretty baggy—maybe angels do need sleep at the end of days?” 

“I was not... angst-ing.” The verb gave Castiel difficulty. English was such an annoyingly transitory language.

“Sure you weren’t, buddy. Staring into space like that, like you wanna gouge a hole outta the air with your eyeballs. You wanna finish your brooding and … uh,” Dean scratched the back of his neck, his lips working over his teeth like he’d run out of saliva. "Come listen to some music? In my basement corner? I've got a Walkman and Sam’s doing research on Roman goddesses, many nude mosaics, so he wouldn’t want us around.”

Castiel had no idea why Dean always propositioned him like that, like there was even the faintest chance of Castiel turning down such an offer to "hang out". He certainly never forewent a chance to hang out in Dean’s room back at the bunker—Dean’s room smelt like apple pie and tumble dryer sheets. He had cotton bed linen and a memory foam mattress. His bed was low and there was always room to spread out on top or lean his back into the end of the mattress if he sat on the floor, and the room was always a little overheated, so that Dean could walk around in a t-shirt and boxers in balmy comfort. Sometimes Dean read or surfed the web, but mostly he just let Castiel rest beside him, below him, behind him. Wherever comfort dictated. And everywhere around Dean was comfortable. And Dean played the softer sounding rock music, where the drums were a little more muffled, the beats pattering like rain on leaves, the strings harmonised over the wailing of the electric guitar, the vocals mournful and quiet, like a lover in the ear of the beloved. Occasionally, Dean even hummed the melody, and it was heaven if Castiel ever had the capacity to dream up one. 

So of course Castiel nodded and followed Dean into the corner of the basement where a makeshift bed of piled up dust cloths and ancient prayer cushions was where Dean decided to nest. Dean sat with his legs splayed open, the natural curves of his shin bones a strangely beautiful fault that Castiel could not imagine Chuck had not doted upon when Dean was conceived in the blueprints of existence. Or maybe it wasn’t Chuck’s intention, maybe their creator never paid that much attention, maybe Dean was no more than a typo in a B-grade script, but everything about him was uniquely beautiful to Castiel. If they were both aberrations from Chuck’s plans, they were at least in perfect company. 

It was because of all that had happened in the cemetery that Castiel allowed his vessel to drift ever closer to Dean as he considered these thoughts. And that was why by the time he started paying attention to his surroundings again, he realised he was nestled against one of Dean’s legs, his hand on a crooked knee. Wasn’t it only an hour ago when they were arguing and bitter? And now Dean was looking at him with a half open mouth, swallowing as Castiel stared at Dean’s pink tongue and white teeth. Dean stared back, licking his mouth as he looked at Castiel’s. Had they both left crumbs there from their meager feast of jerky and tree nuts? Castiel licked his lips again, but he still felt unaccountably thirsty and judging by Dean’s response, he was parched too. 

“The attendants of Aphrodite!” Sam hissed from the other side of the basement. “The three graces. I think I found them on Wikipedia.” 

“Is there a section for ‘killing (methods of)’?” Dean snorted in his little corner. “I mean I know we don’t got a library in here but surely we’re not stooping as low as watching a Ghostfacer’s YouTube ‘how to’ tutorial are we?”

Sam ignored Dean and kept scrolling on his phone. Castiel could see the blue flicker of the screen as Sam sped his way through links at an impressive speed for a human. For a moment, Castiel considered joining Sam in doing the research, but Dean was giving him a long look and still doing that weird staring thing like he was working himself through the necessary mental preparation for a heart to heart. 

A strange phrase, thought Castiel, how can vascular organs converse? Perhaps he should start talking first, so that Dean didn’t strain anything. 

“When we’re not ‘hanging out’ in your room back home, listening to retro rock, I like to read, Dean,” Castiel informed Dean, apropos of nothing. “I read extensively and indiscriminately, preferring to stick to modern literature just for a change. Shakespeare and the Greek playwrights seem less seminal if you’ve seen your brother drink those guys under the table and then bribe his way to have some bawdy joke or salacious plot inserted for his own amusement.”

“Michael?” Dean said with a sour face. 

“No, Gabriel.” 

Dean smiled with relief. 

“But have I ever told you how much I liked to read junk mail, pamphlets gathered at the supermarket that’s an hour’s drive away, correspondence addressed ‘to the householder’ and left in our Lawrence PO Box? All the random stuff that piles up, I take it all back with me to the bunker and I read every one. Strangely enough, I believe I am longing for more junk mail.”

Dean looked at Castiel askance. “Cas, you missing the bunker? Are you feeling homesick?” 

Castiel bowed his head, pressing his temple into a warm kneecap. Dean was right of course—"homesick" for a wayward angel, what a strange concept. For Castiel, junk mail did indeed imply "home", a place of fixed abode. A recipient who might shop for groceries on a regular basis and not out of a gas station. Someone who was interested in various types of insurance because they had something worth holding onto. Castiel wondered if Chuck was going to put an end to junk mail too. If he had destroyed the bunker, or if he would wait for them there using it as a trap, or if he simply annihilated its very existence with a thought in his Wrath. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asked, his knee sinking to the floor. Castiel shifted until he was resting against the wall, his shoulder touching Dean's. It didn’t feel strange, and Dean did not seem to mind. 

“I was wondering where Chuck is now,” Castiel confessed quietly. “You were talking about going to ground in the bunker. But I wonder, what if Chuck goes looking for us there?”

“You think he’s at the bunker?” Dean shrugged. “Guess it would be a dumb move if that’s where we go after here.” 

“Well, according to Sam, this place is protected from Chuck’s influence by whatever Jessica is now,” Castiel replied. “So I suppose being here is actually a good thing, zombies or no.” 

“You think he’s going through my stuff?” Dean suddenly said, his mouth downturned. “Dude’s a total snoop. He’s been watching us this whole time; I bet he’s like looking through my bedside tables right now.” 

Castiel blinked in confusion. 

“Why would Chuck be interested in that? What do you keep in your bedside table?” Castiel murmured. “Is it something that could help us defeat him?” 

Dean raised his eyebrows, he chuckled when Castiel’s expression did not even flicker. 

“You don’t know? The usual stuff, dude.” 

“I cannot imagine what one would need to keep by their side while sleeping.” 

“It’s stuff for before and after and in between the sleeping part.” Dean was looking away now, but Dean’s evasiveness made Castiel more keen to tease him about it. 

“Dean, you sleep with your gun and angel blade under your pillow, what else would you need to put there?”

Castiel only knew this because he’d slept in Dean’s bed when Dean was away on hunts at times, when he wanted to play human or was very low on grace and needed sleep. Once or twice, Dean had returned in the middle of the night and found him there. Dean never bothered to wake him. Seeing Dean’s broad back relaxed in slumber was one of the nicest things about staying at the bunker for Castiel. And there was that time when he stole the First Blade. Yet another apocalypse, the path to which had been paved with good intentions. What was the end of the world between family, anyway? The shock and fear and awe of Chuck’s betrayal was slowly ebbing away from Castiel as he conversed with Dean. In the subterranean basement of an ill attended church, he was learning to defy God. 

He couldn't resist winding Dean up a little further, though. 

“Perhaps you have a copy of the bible in your drawers, I often see those in motel rooms. Though why humans would find it comforting to read Revelations before bed is beyond my understanding.” Castiel mused quietly. 

“I don’t read a bible before bed.” Dean said firmly. “Or ever. And never again. Unless there’s a version that tells you how to gank God.” 

Castiel wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. So he brought the discussion back to Dean. 

“If we are discussing your biological need for lubrication and how you enjoy a diverse range of pornography from the internet, I can only express my admiration,” Castiel tried for distraction and it worked, Dean was staring at him again. “Your sexual curiosity is a positive trait.” 

“Uh yeah, figures you think that’s a good thing. We don’t usually compliment people on their taste in porn.” Dean scratched at his collarbone, a pink flush creeping up his neck. 

“Why not? It's a very intuitive and brave thing to explore your sexuality,” Castiel said. “Your diligence in that regard is commendable.” 

“I’m good at what now?” 

“Pornography,“ Castiel tried his best to communicate clearly with Dean. Perhaps, if only they could all speak to one another plainly, Chuck would not be able to play them off against each other. “I was just admiring your passion for porn.” 

Dean shot Castiel a look, turning a fetching shade of crimson. “Don’t talk like that with your angel mouth.”

“Wasn’t that one of your bookmarks?” 

Dean groaned, a little too loudly. 

From the other end of the basement, Sam protested. “If you guys don’t want to research, can you at least keep it down?” 

“The angel started it,” Dean was belligerent. “He’s being a little shit.” 

“I am not, I'm merely—” Castiel began. 

“He’s trying to distract me from thinking about Chuck with sex talk,” Dean hissed. “Super inappropriate when I’m thinking about God, y'know.” 

“Dean, it's been a while since Cas learnt about the birds and the bees. We can talk freely about that stuff, why can’t he join in?” Sam said.

"Nope, can't talk about porn with your family. Not cool.” 

“But Dean…” 

“Not cool, Cas.”

“Okay, guys, this, on the other hand, is super cool,” Sam interrupted, holding his phone aloft even though the screen was way too small for Dean to read at that distance. “They swarm in huge congregations of spiders! This is them, that’s what Jess is! I gotta call Rowena. She’ll know them, they’re practically witches in modern lore. Well, hags is what they are often called.” 

“No, man, no,” Dean groaned. “I’ll take Chuck is an angry writer, they all are, pretty much. I’ll deal with the zombies, but I don’t want super witches that turn into zillions of spiders. Nope.” 

Sam was already shoving his phone in Castiel’s face. The screen was predictably showing Wikipedia. The title of the article was "Furies". 

Castiel read the entry quickly while Sam spoke to Rowena on his cellphone. 

“They are goddesses. Greek mythology is the most well known source but their origins are pagan and go back a long time,” Sam was ranting now, info dumping in his excitement. “Rowena wouldn’t say much, she seems to think they know everything that happens, has happened and could happen so she didn’t want them to get mad at her for snitching. She confirmed the three of them always hang out together and are some of the most powerful deities in lore. The Greek gods used to fear them because they could curse wrongdoers with terrible fates. Gods included.” 

“Oh, ho, I see a catch,” Dean crossed his arms. “Define wrongdoers?”

“Well, it says they are born from the curse of victims of injustice, usually familial homicide. Crimes against families.” 

“They sprang from the blood of Kronos when his son castrated him,” Castiel recalled helpfully. “A memorable origin story, I must admit.” 

“Geez, really? Bloody ball cutting witches?” 

Sam took over again. “No, Dean, they aren’t violent, they just punish those who are. Especially between parents and children, apparently. The furies exist to sentence those they judge to have committed the crime, and they punish them.”

“The furries are fighting God?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Furies, like Furious, _The Fast and The Furious_? This conversation is infuriating?” 

“Alright Mr Ancient Literature, I get it, Sophocles, Neil Gaiman, three women weaving a tapestry of everyone’s fate, punishes anyone who tries to kill their dad or marry their mom or whatever,” Dean muttered. “I do read literature, graphic novels included.” 

Castiel smiled fondly as Dean spoke, but his mouth flattened as he realised something. “I fought against my father, betrayed my brothers and sisters, killed many.” 

“I shot God,” Sam shrugged. “If we’re talking about angering the furies, you might need to get in line.” 

“I almost shot Jack,” Dean said in a broken voice. “And he’s... he’s just a kid. Was.”

“You were never going to kill him,” Castiel said, his voice cracking as well. “You wouldn't have.” 

“You don’t know, Cas.” 

“I believe,” Castiel said. “I may not have faith in anything anymore, I still have a spark of faith in you, a glimmer you have kept alive. I was proud of you in the cemetery. As angry as I was, still am, that much I can assure you, Dean. My faith in you is unwavered, even if we don’t always agree with each other.” 

“We’re all God’s creatures,” Sam said bitterly. “We all tried to stop him so yeah, technically we all qualify for punishment by the furies. But y'know, Jessica didn’t give me the vibe that she was mad at us. If anything, I think it’s the opposite. These furies, they don’t have to be our enemies. Not when they’re trying to fix up the town. I think we should suss them out more.” 

“I think we should kill them,” Dean said. “She’s wearing Jessica’s face. That’s not right.” 

“It says they take the form of victims of violence,” Sam’s voice quavered a little. “Um, they embody the curse of women who were killed in violence. The furies are women and embody their lust for vengeance uttered with a last breath. So Jessica, she uh, probably was pretty mad about what happened to her and if Chuck thinks we’re so important it makes sense that the furies take the form of the women we… didn’t help.” 

“Mom? Could one of them be walking around as her?” 

“I don’t know, Dean.” 

“Any of them dare, I’ll kill them myself,” Dean choked out. 

“I don’t think killing things indiscriminately is going to help,” Castiel said, putting a hand on Dean’s arm. “I think we learnt that lesson with Jack.” 

It hurt to say Jack’s name and it would hurt for a long time to come, but right now, the message needed to get through to Dean. “We need to give the furies time, see what they do.”

“They could be good,” Sam agreed. 

“Believing in the supernatural being good is what got us here. Believing that Chuck was on our side was the wrong move,” Dean argued. “We can’t make that mistake again.”

“If we can’t see the good in people, what’s the point?” Castiel asked. 

“Okay, one, people are not good, Cas, believe me, and two, they’re not people.” 

Castiel sighed. “It’s been a long day. You need sleep and I need time too.” 

Dean sighed and patted Castiel on the shoulder. His palm was always so warm.

“I think I know where they’ll be, the three furies, the judges of wrongdoers,” Sam said, looking up at a map of the town hanging conveniently on the wall. His fingertip was resting on a small square building labelled "The Courthouse”. 

As Dean laid down to sleep and Castiel slowly eased his back into the warm bundle that approximated Dean’s shape, he thought that Dean was wrong. Some people were good. Here was one. 

=❤=❤=❤=


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was over it. What was this, apocalypse take eight or nine? He had lost count sometime in the late 2000s. This one sucked worse than the others because the guy who started it had been their friend. Sure, Dean had other people close to him feature in a few end-of-the-world scenarios, Sam and Cas both for starters. But there was something about Chuck turning on them that made it a little worse. It was the predictability, the final salt in the wound that after all this time, they’d been right. 

God wasn’t just working against them, he had been entertained by their suffering. None of it made sense: why save them so many times only to bring them to the brink of destruction over and over? Why give them Cas when they could have wallowed in existential angst in utter darkness? Why give them the light of hope? Why give them a nice morning, during the zombie apocalypse, where the sun streamed through the basement window and the dust motes danced in the pale light in angelic parabolas and landed gently on the tip of Cas’ eyelash? When Dean leaned forward and tentatively reached out to brush away the speck, Cas’ eyes flickered open, and they were such a lively blue that Dean felt still, despite everything, the beauty of existence in that single, trusting glance.

“Better get ready for the courthouse,” Dean said, clearing his throat. He needed coffee and explanations. 

Cas nodded and climbed to his feet swiftly, his trenchcoat falling open as he walked towards the table where their weapons were laid out. Sam was still asleep in his nook, his phone in his hand. Dean grabbed a bottle of water out of one of the bags and necked it down, somewhat wishing it was beer. 

“So what do you think of this church? You recognise any of the symbols and statues up there in the secret crypt?” 

Castiel nodded. “Yes, they are Mycenaean and Minoan and other forms of ancient languages going all the way back to cuneiform.”

“English?” 

“Yes I am speaking English, and no the writing is not English,” Castiel said calmly, even though Dean was pouting. “I would guess the religion practised is of ancient Greek origin and most of the words talk about love. Problems associated with love mostly. You would be pleased to hear there is no Enochian or anything biblical mentioned. This has nothing to do with Chuck.” 

“Okay,” Dean said. “Right, pagan, then. Hey, you think the… y'know, Xena and Hercules kinda gods… if there are any of them left, do you think they would be on our side?”

“Now that Chuck is throwing the script into the fire?” Castiel wondered. “Not sure. Gods are usually fickle, if not equally cruel as Chuck.” 

“I’m just thinking, furies are kinda a Greek thing too. Bit of a coincidence?” 

“I think there is something to that,” Cas said, giving Dean the same sort of bright, hopeful look that he had when he was talking about Dean’s pornography habit the night before. Dude had no right to be that nice, thought Dean, but here they were. A decade later and Cas, at least, wasn’t tired of his shit and probably thought he was super smart and definitely cool or something. 

After Sam woke up, he spent a little while texting back and forth with Rowena again. She pointed him to a few links and by the time the rest of the town was up, they had something of a working plan. Furies hung out in threes, they are strongest when they are together and can only be dealt with if all three were handled at the same time. 

“Three of them, three of us, even odds,” Dean said with false confidence. Cas was still powered down from his mega smite move in the cemetery, Sam’s shoulder was healing and Dean was just fucking tired. 

“They can’t be killed, but they can be trapped in their own webbing,” Sam said, looking at the texts from Rowena. 

“Tell her thanks for rushing here and helping out,” Dean said. “You know, when we’re the ones up to our necks in zombies.”

“She said she had a cruise booked, for the Mediterranean,” Sam shrugged. 

“Right, we deal with Greek gods and she, what, tours the Colosseum?” 

“She’s lying low,” Sam said. “Not unexpected for Rowena. At least she doesn’t blame us for apocalypse again.” 

“Yeah, and that’s a real comfort, tell her I said so.” Dean rolled his eyes and barged his way out the basement door. 

=❤=❤=❤=

_So the court house is a bust_ , thought Dean as they walked in. The whole place was deserted—cobwebs everywhere and no shuffling zombies in sight. They went through all the levels and were pretty much about to give up when they saw Jessica walking through the courtyard. She turned and saw Sam leading them, smiled and kept walking. Dean and Cas followed Sam and the three them walked through a hedge maze that seemed to go on forever. 

“What is this Harry Potter magic crap?” Dean complained as they chased after her. “JK’s done it already in _Goblet of Fire_.” 

Sam shot him a look and they sped up. 

“Look up there,” Cas said, pointing towards the sky. There were looming shapes in the tall hedge, giant grey cocoons lying inside of elaborate, enormous webs. There were three hanging in the highest spot, all open. 

“I think that’s where the furies sleep,” Sam took a photo. “There’s three, so maybe they're all here.” 

“Alright, let’s keep following her,” Dean nodded. “She seems to want us to.” 

At the end of the maze they found a queue of zombies standing before a grassy hill. There were rocks piled together and two women sat either side of the highest empty rock. Below the stones piled up into a makeshift judge’s bench, were two long slabs, behind which sat a group of zombies in somber black. 

“Are they lawyers?” Dean nudged Sam in the ribs. “Hard to tell them apart from zombies.” 

Sam sighed, but Cas gave a startled chuckle. Dean gave Cas an appreciative look—it wasn't often he laughed at Dean's jokes. 

“Wait, is that…” Dean stopped, grabbing Sam’s shirt. 

Sam was gulping and staring at the second furie sitting beside Jessica, high on their stone dais. She was signing with her hands, beckoning for a pair of zombies to approach the bench. Her brown hair flicked around in the wind, as if sensing his staring, she looked at him and smiled without speaking. 

“Eileen,” Sam looked at her, desperately taking in her charming face. 

Dean felt for Sam. As if Chuck hadn’t put them through enough the last few days, or last few decades, here was Sam looking at two of his dead exes. Or at least he assumed things with Eileen had been headed somewhere before she'd been so violently killed. 

“You okay?” Dean asked as a zombie in a court officer’s uniform growled at them to sit down and stop talking. 

Sam just nodded and watched the proceedings with rapt attention. 

Two zombies walked up to the bench, one pointing at the other and growling in a mournful manner. 

“She sounds really cross,” Dean quipped. 

“We hear you,” Jessica said to the woman. “Show us, sister.” 

The female zombie pointed at her chest and then at the male zombie’s mouth. Slowly and clumsily she pulled aside her tie and unbuttoned her shirt. There was a gaping hole in her chest. 

“Eww,” Dean groaned, grabbing Cas’ arm. “Gross, did he eat that?”

The second zombie shrugged and uttered a few growls. 

“I think he’s saying he was hungry,” Cas guessed. 

“Yeah, I think that’s what they’re hearing too,” Dean watched Jessica communicate with Eileen. 

“Seems simple enough,” Eileen said after a moment’s consideration. “You may approach the bench, defendant.” 

Dean's stomach did its best rollercoaster impression as Eileen grabbed a hold of the man’s collarbone, pulling up his t-shirt and drove her fist into his rotting chest. The organ was thrown to the woman who caught it with a wide smile. She ate it in several satisfied gulps and began to walk away. The male zombie looked at her and slowly lurched to follow. 

“I think they’re still friends,” Dean raised his eyebrows, turning to look at Cas. “What the fuck?” 

Castiel shushed him as the next group stepped up. There was some lengthy groaning from the lawyers then Jessica stood up. 

“We have heard quite enough. This man, who is a father, tried to the eat the fingers of his family while they slept. You would have devoured them all if your wife did not stop you, so this is your punishment.” 

Jessica stared at the trembling accused, her mouth opening up impossibly wide and Dean almost lost his breakfast when the swarm appeared, long limbed and impossibly numerous. The spiders climbed out of Jessica’s mouth and quickly covered their victim. For a few minutes, the swarm assumed the shape of the zombie, but, quickly enough, the whole structure collapsed, and they all crawled back towards Jessica, winding their way up her booted feet and disappearing into her bare flesh. 

Dean shuddered in horror. There was _no fucking way_ he was going anywhere near these spidery bitches, no matter who they looked like when they were in one piece. 

The last creature who approached the bizarre court for justice was even more gruesome. The two of them had cracked skulls and a brain stretched out between them, so they both lurched horribly and with much finger pointing and wailing they fell to their knees. 

“They are brothers who were travelling in a car together when Chuck flipped the script. Their vehicle crashed, banging their heads together and they ended up like this. A brain shared between two bodies, not sure if it truly belongs to either of them.” 

Eileen nodded and left her seat. She grabbed the heads and very carefully, but mercilessly, pulled. The zombies screamed, but the noise died down when they fell apart, half a brain in each head. Eileen leaned down and began to regurgitate something silvery from her mouth. The webbing filled the craniums and quickly sealed up the gaping skulls. The bodies twitched on the ground, one drew in a sharp breath, then the other began to growl. The two brothers slowly clambered back up to their feet, leaning on each other for support. 

“Off you go,” Eileen said.

“Any more cases?” Jessica looked around, her eyes flicking in Sam and Dean’s direction. 

“Yeah,” Dean stood up, trying not to lose his lunch. “Yeah, I got something.” 

“Dean,” Cas placed his hand on Dean’s elbow. “If you ask them for justice, they will dispense it, at any cost. Including your life.” 

“I got this, Cas,” Dean grinned bleakly. “Hey, guys, I’m Dean Winchester and I got a case for you.” 

The furies turned eyes glowing with silvery light upon him. 

“We are listening, Dean,” they said in unison. 

=❤=❤=❤=

“Can’t believe they kicked us out of court,” Dean muttered, poking at the burger on his plate. After the display at the court, he found himself without much of an appetite for meat.

“You asked them to sentence God,” Sam laughed. “I’m just surprised you didn’t get punished for contempt.” 

“Dean’s request was a good idea,” Cas said, supportively. “They are very magical creatures—in the beginning of time they were perhaps more powerful than Chuck. It was worth a try.” 

“It wasn’t a flat out no.” Dean pulled off a mustard pickle and studied it. “They said they weren’t powerful enough. But that’s because there was only the two of them just now. If we can find the third, maybe they’ll be able to call Chuck to their court and spider web him or something. Undo the zombie curse, I dunno. Definitely worth a try.” 

“But how would we find the third furie?” Cas asked. 

“Check this out.” Dean dug through his wallet. “Jess!Furie gave me this.” 

Sam grabbed the card from Dean, then looked up after reading it. “It’s a comic shop, in town.” 

“Opens at nine am,” Dean pushed away his burger, pink in the centre. “You know what, I think I’ll stick with root beer and fries.”

“I can somewhat understand their choice of forms and occupations,” Cas took Dean’s burger. “Jessica is a nurse because nurses heal, and the furies are supposed to right wrongs and protect victims. So that makes sense. Eileen is a judge and that of course is compliant with the furie lore.” 

“Yes,” Sam agreed as he ate a bite of his salad, which Dean was kind of regretting not ordering for once. “So what kind of a furie works in a comic book shop?” 

=❤=❤=❤=


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Castiel noticed about the church hall, as they approached their basement lair, was that the lights were on.

“Thought the place was abandoned?” Dean pulled out his weapon. 

“I believe the sign states ‘Hobby Night’,” Castiel read the small lit up board. “Stitch n’ Bitch is the front room. The main hall is reserved for ‘square dancing’. And the back room is a writing group.”

Sam looked at the information board. “Jessica...looks like she is trying to keep everyone in town human. So it would make sense for them to keep the human hobbies. I mean look at this.” 

The pamphlet Sam picked up out of the information display stated that the church hall usually sat empty during the week. Some unpopular orthodox religion or another was dutifully practiced there every weekend by the few acolytes left. The rest of the time, it was rented out by special interest groups during the week. 

“EROS club, an amateur writers’ group,” Sam pointed out. “Jessica’s name is here as the organiser.” 

“I fought Eileen hard on the name,” Jessica said, startling them as she emerged from the shadow of the church doorway. She wasn’t in her nurse’s outfit anymore. Skinny jeans and a white t-shirt that showed off her curves and a tan leather jacket was draped over her shoulder. “Erotic Romance Oration Society sounds pretty dumb. But Eileen thought it was funny and she likes a good acronym.”

Castiel thought Jessica looked a lot more human than she did earlier, although he noticed Dean subtly edging away from her.

“I don’t run the show, though,” Jessica said. “I rent out the hall for our writers' club, but I’m sure you guys can tell by now I don’t call the shots. Even Eileen isn’t our most senior member. I have to tell you, Eileen and I both think we should work with you guys, but our leader doesn’t even know you’re here. We’ve been using our magic to shield you all from her and vice versa. Come in and check it out, then decide if you want to be allies.” 

“Is this whole town a magical illusion?” Sam asked her.

Jessica shook her head. “We knew what was going to happen here; we’ve been here a while. About a hundred years, using different forms. Whatever was available to us. I got Jess well, you know when, and Eileen became what she is now when your Eileen got killed. We were surprised when we got these new forms, but then we looked into the timeline webs and worked out you guys are very important to the world—the worlds, really. So we got the forms of the women you guys couldn’t save. Sucks for you, but sucks for us, too. With each form comes memories and feelings, all that human stuff. We’ve been just doing our job, writing the narrative, picking up the dropped plot points, so many fix-its. You three have sure kept us busy the last ten years. We meet here every Tuesday to discuss our writing. So real writer’s group. Real townsfolk, even if they are not as limber as they used to be.” 

They walked together into the church hall, past the room in which a group of zombies sat in a circular formation and growled as they knitted. The main hall was alive with music and there was shuffling and grumbling yeehaws. Dean peeked through the door and commented to Castiel that the cowboy and cowgirl outfits were of a good standard. 

They followed Jessica to the back room, where she told them to stay hidden behind a movable divider that sat along one wall. After they were settled, Jessica busied herself laying out a cake box on a table near the back of the room. Next to it she placed a few candles, and a small, golden box. 

She started pulling out and arranging three chairs, and within minutes, Eileen arrived. 

“Are they here?” she signed. 

“Yeah, just behind there. She won’t see them or hear them, right?” 

Eileen shook her head, giving Jessica a thumbs up. Eileen winked at Sam as she walked past his hiding spot to sit in one of the armchairs. 

“Let us pray for our sister to grace us with her presence,” Jessica said. 

“Let us pray,” Eileen said in a bored voice. “I don’t know why we can’t just text her.” 

“You heard her last week, she said the higher ups are cracking down on us; we have to do things properly now.” Jessica flicked her gaze towards where the boys were hiding, adding, “Ever since we bargained for the power to change up Chuck’s narrative, we’ve been indebted to them. We need to show them we haven’t forgotten the old ways.” 

“Fine, but if we are going to chant, can we have some coffee first?” Eileen tilted her head towards the door. “The knitting group has a latte machine, and I think the milk in the fridge is still good.” 

“I’m dairy free,” Jessica protested. 

“You’re letting that vessel of yours take over the reins,” Eileen lectured. “We’re daughters of Nyx—we dine on the blood of immoral men and sup on the flesh of the parent-slayer. None of that gluten free, egg free, meat free crap, please.” 

“We don’t eat them, eww,” Jessica protested. “Let’s not buy into our own hype.” 

“Hype?” Eileen snorted disdainfully. “Look around, sister, do you see many worshippers here? Last week, I was working three jobs on top of the cursing and avenging. We’re about as unhyped as goddesses can get.” 

“Right, so we gotta do everything ourselves,” Jessica signed back as she spoke. “Start the chanting, will you? I stay more in tune when you start us.” 

As they began chanting in a language Castiel thought was an archaic form of Greek, Dean and Sam began to clutch their heads. Castiel was not as affected by the chanting as they were. He pulled Dean closer to himself and touched his forehead to keep him calm. Dean slumped against him when the chanting ended. 

“Alright, she’s here,” Jessica bowed down to a figure sitting in the third chair. “Welcome, sister.”

Castiel knew that whatever magic Eileen and Jessica were using to shield them from being detected also prevented them from perceiving the identity of the third furie, but they could hear a voice and see a shadow with its back to them. 

“Lemme just adjust my chair, I hate being so short,” came a chirpy, but harassed voice. “I gotta sit more elevated, higher in head height. I might be showrunner furie, like I honestly don’t care, babes, you know that, but uh, we have to do things with some standards because you know they’re watching our every move now. What are you doing, Jessica?”

“The welcome chant, 'Chorus of Maddened Desire.'” Jessica stopped mid-song. She was a beautiful goddess, but her singing was less divine than anyone could hope. “Do you want me to do the shrill shouting and taking my clothes off in ecstasy bit now?” 

Castiel could see Eileen raised her eyebrows with interest where she sat opposite Jessica.

“Urgh, no, having no worshippers and having to do everything ourselves sucks,” said the leader. “Jess, it’s okay, you can keep the skinny jeans on. Last month the janitor complained about the fluids on the floor.” 

“It was only sweat,” Jessica grumbled. “You can’t emote passionate worship without some perspiration. I’m just very method, went to some acting classes in LA once, that time I was married to Walt.” 

“Disney villains have talking animal minions,” Eileen said. They were both hunching so as to be lower in head height than the leader, dutifully subservient. “Hmm, what animal would I get? An octopus, maybe… they have lots of arms to express themselves and a mouth between their legs.” 

“Guys, we’re short on time, talk tentacles on Discord later, okay? Sorry I wasn’t around to help out at court today. I’ve spent all day talking to The Powers That Be,” said their leader to a collective groan. “They wanted to know how our rewrite is going, since they lent us so much of the power to make it happen. I gave them what I could of the outline we had come up with. There was a feedback session…” 

They looked at each other’s forlorn faces. 

“Let me guess, the feedback was…” 

“Constructive of course.”

“You mean brutal and unsolicited?” Jess asked, rolling her eyes.

“They’re not enjoying what we’re coming up with. They don’t think this is going to work, keeping all of Chuck’s zombies in one town, trying to make them human using spells and curses. They think we’re wasting power. They want to control the narrative.” 

Jessica spoke up, furious. “Okay, tell them they can try spinning out a new plot to try and fix everything. We’re dealing with a spiraling narrative here and the Winchesters are right in the centre of it. Chuck’s little tantrum, which by the way, totally out of character. Every year one of the Team Free Will go and do something so catastrophically illogical and we end up here, fixing it with stories. Now, God has gone OOC. This is a writer’s worst nightmare.” 

“I do, I have, for years! I’ve told them and I keep telling them we are doing the best we can. And the power we take, it’ll be worth it to keep the world going,” said the third furie, her voice dipping low. “But guys, the end is neigh!” 

Jessica turned to Eileen, pulling her hand over an imaginary horn protruding from her forehead. 

“No, not a Unicorn like in Revelations,” Eileen rolled her eyes. “Nigh, near! You have been inside that cute little vessel too long. All of time and space, all the possible worlds and countless forms to choose from, you always pick the bosomy blonde.” 

“Bosomy blondes are smart okay, and usually extra flexible! Still annoyed I had to dump Marilyn, she was so petite and adorable. I wouldn’t say she’s even all that recognisable anymore. But I suppose Jessica Moore is not bad either, is she? Her death curse was so powerful, I shudder in delight to think of it. The night of the first time she made love with sweet, smart Sammy, his brother interrupts and then she’s pinned to the ceiling, toasting Jessica Smore. Newly deflowered virgin, sacrificed for the pain of a Winchester dick.”

Castiel heard Sam shuffle beside him, and reached out to put a hand on his arm to keep him still. 

Eileen shivered, mumbling, “They killed me after I skyped Sam. You got the better end of the deal.” 

“That’s the problem: our names, our vessels. The history of the forms we are taking. And the emotional parts of their stories. We’re getting character bleed through. That’s where we are going wrong. We’re too caught up on the doings of the Winchesters, it has narrowed our creative focus too much. The TPTB are implacable, they are going to step in.” 

“Of course we’re preoccupied with the Winchesters,” Eileen retorted. “They’re the ones the stories always hinge on. How many apocalypses are averted and started because of them? The worlds spin because the Winchesters set them rattling like bottle-tops.”

“And now the worlds are in peril. Worlds plural! Their nephilim son has pierced the veil too many times.” 

The leader spoke, trying to regain control. “Right, so aside from the Winchesters and their adventures, the next order of business…?”

“The Dance of Familial Failures and offerings of placation for the three accursed goddesses.” 

“I got a pecan pie,” Jessica pointed towards the rec table. 

The dominant furie was pleased. “That’s my favourite! Well done, sister, but let us partake of the offering when we have a break. No, no dancing Eileen, put the scarves away. Skip to the next agenda item.” 

Eileen paled, looking up from the handwritten agenda. 

“WIP share …” the three furies sighed. 

“Break time?”

Jessica was the first one out of her chair and running for the pecan pie. 

=❤=❤=❤=


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had never seen a writer’s group at work before. Sure, these guys were furie witches or something, but they were really, bottom line, just writers. Angry, frustrated, struggling writers. There was a lot of talk about the lives of the Winchesters, the doings of the angels, the “story arc” of Crowley and Gabriel and the like. To the furies, everyone was a character in their own little story. To Dean’s great shock, it sounded like they had been working on the story of Dean and Sam, and even Castiel, for a long time. They were talking about “dropped plot points” and “unresolved character journeys.” The more the furies spoke the more they seemed to despair—shoving their faces full of pie and lamenting as they ate. There was a particular line of narrative that Jessica and Eileen seemed preoccupied with. It involved words like “mix-tape” and “I need you” and “angry sleeper”. The word “destiel” made its inevitable appearance too. Dean thought the furies sounded particularly bitter when they discussed it. 

“You know, what really bugs me about it all is that there’s no resolution,” Jessica said. “Chuck was fond of the Winchesters and Castiel. He built them up to be these amazing characters, but now he’s just dumping them. After he put those guys through hell, literally.” 

“It’s not hell, it’s worse than that. An emotional purgatory of dashed hope,” Eileen said to Jessica as they dug leftover pecan pie out of the box with flimsy plastic forks. “Over and over they are trapped in a limbo of deceit and desire.” 

“Even pie’s not going to fix this, is it?” Jessica stuffed her mouth full of nuts and chewy caramel. 

“I care about Dean and Castiel, I’ve invested too many years in their story,” Eileen chased Jessica’s fork away from the filling. “Eat some crust, quit hogging all the insides.” 

“You heard what she said, they’re pulling the plug on the whole thing, this world, every world. We’re going for the grand finale.”

“The grand train wreck more like,” Eileen clenched her fist, the fork bending at her angry squeeze. “Their story has stalled for too long, but let's not forget there were moments when they got close. Remember those girls that put on the fanfic musical? Or when they played cowboys in “Tombstone”? Who says we won’t get something like that in the end?” 

Dean frowned, weren’t those cases they had worked? Why were the furies talking about them like they were… Dean thought hard, like they were episodes in that _Supernatural_ show, that time they got sent to that universe where they were actors. Now that had been a confusing universe. He never wanted to go through something like that again.

“Those were the exceptions and not the rule,” Jessica was still saying. “We’re just fanon writers to The Powers That Be. We tidy up the plot points they drop. We deal with the minutiae, always looking for that parallel or narrative symmetry. But at the end of the day, Chuck has the rights, and he calls the shots.” 

“So? There are other sources of power out there,” Eileen replied. 

“Yeah and we’ve used them, and they’ll want a hefty price for that,” Jessica sighed. 

The bells began to ring and quickly the two furies returned to their seats beside the unseen third. The leader talked about it “being time for the repayment”. The three of them abandoned their chairs and sat on the ground. There was a moment of silence then chanting. Their voices harmonised in slow waves, a tremor began to shake the ground. The candles on the dais flickered into life and the door of the golden box resting on the altar to the unknown gods swung open. The heart shaped pebble they had last seen on the altar, when Dean stole the wine, had changed into a living throbbing thing, beating with a heavy sound. Unlike the heart Eileen had plucked from the zombie during the trials, this one was glowing with health, the surface glossy and veined, moving with slow ease like an embryo. 

“It’s drawing too much power from us,” Jessica gasped, her eyes locking onto Eileen’s. The three furies joined hands, Eileen’s eyes rolled into her head. 

Then the heart gave a final loud thump and the box disintegrated around the fleshy organ altogether. A breeze scented of roses meandered through the room, the furies slumped to the ground. Sam was the first on his feet, dashing forward towards the mysterious third fury. As if a veil had been lifted, Dean blinked and could almost see the shape of a small female body where the the third furie lay unconscious, but before his gaze could focus, all three bodies began to move. At first, it looked like they were crumbling to dust, but then it became clear the specks of what looked like soot were growing long, spidery legs. Their shapes collapsed into piles of spiders, moving speedily towards the dais, moving to cover the heart, silvery webs quickly wrapping it up in a neat cocoon. All three furies had transformed into one combined swarm and the cocoon grew bigger and bigger still. 

“Should we stop it?” Dean asked. “All three are there, we could kill them somehow.” 

“How?” Sam asked. 

“I don’t know, salt water, fire, shoot it?” 

“I don’t think we can hurt it,” Castiel drew his blade from his sleeve and prodded the cocoon with the tip. The spider web quickly swallowed half the blade and Castiel had to pull it out and flick off the spiders trying to climb up his wrist. 

“Jess hid us, she wanted us to see,” Sam hesitated. “She’s in there and so is Eileen.” 

“I’m telling you, now is our chance,” Dean argued. “Nothing good’s gonna come out of that.” 

“Dean, we have to go,” Castiel’s eyes raised to the ceiling where the spiders were climbing into the rafters and spinning more webs, their silk quickly filling up all the available space. A cloud of webbing was descending. 

“It’s sticky,” Sam said. “If we get trapped in here with it, we might not be able to get out.” 

“So gross,” Dean looked at the cocoon again, the shape and size of it brought an uncomfortable memory to his mind, that of Castiel shrouded on the dining table not long after Jack was born. Dean quickly brushed the thought aside. 

The three of them ran outside the room and as the hall filled with webbing, one or two of the slower zombies became stuck. They jerked sadly in place, then the swarm engulfed them. 

Now that the church was off limits, they abandoned the basement and moved through town. Apart from the church hall, the place looked calm and asleep. There were definitely fresh piles of soil in the softer patches of earth in the town park, presumably where the ground was full of zombies. The three of them walked into the car yard where they had hidden the Impala. Dean found the sight of the hard bitumen ground comforting. 

“We’ll sleep here tonight and in the morning see if we can find the third furie. When she’s hopefully less spidery and gross,” Dean said. “Why did Jessica hide her from us? What’s the point of making us wait?” 

“Maybe they needed to do that heart thing together first,” Sam suggested. 

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” 

“The chant they were singing was a sacrificial one,” Castiel said. “A repaying of a bargain. They were offering up their power of creation to the heart shaped stone, which they called an egg.” 

“If it’s dragons in there I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Dean sighed. 

“The song didn’t mention dragons,” Castiel said nonplussed. “It talked mostly about love, the power of love.” 

“Like the power ballad?” Dean snorted, stretching out in the backseat of the Impala. “Let Sam have the front, Cas, we can squish in the back.” 

“I can sit on the roof, take first watch.” Castiel offered. 

“No, Cas, the zombies are sleeping, we’ll be fine, stay in here,” Sam said. “If you don’t mind sharing with Dean.” 

“You’re not sitting there on the gear box staring at me all night either, come lay down and shut your eyes.” Dean said gruffly, tugging on Castiel’s sleeve. 

Given that Dean and Sam were united in enforcing these sleeping arrangements, Castiel decided it would be rude to decline. Besides, Dean was still ever so warm, and the Impala smelled like home. 

=❤=❤=❤=

Dean was having an uneasy dream. Not a nightmare with monsters or archangels, or horns and teeth bursting out of himself, not guilt ridden dreams of people he hadn’t been able to help either, not the usual stuff. It was of a beautiful island. A secluded beach, a handsome man, bright blue eyes and butterflies. The guy had looked like Cas, but he didn’t feel like Cas. 

“Dean, I’ve been waiting to meet you,” the man said, tanned skin glimmering golden in the sun, his teeth pearly white. 

Dean found that he could not respond to the warm greeting for all the love suddenly filling his heart like it was fit to burst. He could not even look into those beautiful eyes, he could not tell him how much he loved him, it was such an urgent, overwhelming, soul crushing love that he could not begin to articulate it. It would never be returned, a question without a answer, a silent finale. He was drowning in that feeling. 

“I’m afraid the veil between the worlds is lifting,” said the beautiful not-Cas guy, his shoulders shrugging under the eccentrically colourful knitted jacket he wore. “Chuck is pulping all his failed drafts in one hit. All of that Nephilim power piercing the veil between the worlds back and forth hasn’t helped with keeping things stable either. Frankly, I suspect Chuck just isn’t a good enough writer to fix it all. So now he’s trashing his WIPs. We are looking at a matter of weeks before everything ends. But it’s not all bad news, I’m coming to take care of you, with the furies’ magic love is returning to the world, no more godless despair. Love me, worship me.” 

The man came closer and Dean could smell the orange blossom scent of his skin, the salt in his hair, the intoxicating loveliness of his flesh. He was close enough to kiss, but of course Dean had been in enough dreams where kisses were wrenched out of him quite against his will. 

“No,” Dean said. “You’re not him. I don’t love you.” 

The ocean around the island roared, the man was still smiling but he was silent. The seaspray got on his face and ran down his cheek like insincere tears, his pink mouth was downturned. The earth trembled, the ground shook, the skies darkened, and Dean could hear the scream of the furies in the distance. 

“No,” Dean repeated. “No!” 

He was yelling it still when he woke up. 

“Dean, are you alright?” 

Dean lashed out with his arms, his legs kicking, the Impala rocked as he violently awoke. Castiel was staring down at him, his hands on Dean’s shoulders in alarm. 

“What were you dreaming of?” 

Dean stared up at Castiel’s eyes, they looked black in the darkness. Not all that blue really, he thought with relief. 

“Did I scratch the leather?” Dean looked around in alarm. 

“These seats have endured worse,” Castiel shuffled behind Dean, making more space for Dean to relax into. 

Dean scooched closer, murmuring sleepily. “What if I kick you in my sleep?” 

“I’ll survive,” Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s chest. “I always do.”

And there were no more dreams of butterfly eyes. 

=❤=❤=❤=

Sam watched Dean and Cas in the rearview mirror. Sam loved his brother and Cas was, well, the best thing that happened to the Winchesters in forever, but sometimes they were just too much. Sam had moved beyond the hopeful phase fairly early on. He knew they were hopelessly mired in unspoken feelings. It was hard to watch Dean circle around Castiel, watch them deal out the highs and lows to each other; roller coaster through Castiel’s many deaths and Dean’s own menagerie of possessions by the Mark of Cain, by Michael, by whatever Monster of the Year. Watching Dean’s chest rise and fall in Castiel’s secure grip gave Sam comfort in these moments of introspection. He didn’t know how to resolve things for the two stuck-in-the-mud wheels of Team Free Will. So all Sam could do was make like a tricycle, be the lead wheel, guide his family through fastidious and wide ranging research. Find the hunts that kept Dean motivated, ignore the loyal manner in which Castiel faithfully followed Dean around. Dressing up as cowboys, dressing up as a doctor, dressing up in every way conceivable for Dean’s affections. Though for Sam, who had been there when Dean hit the booze and babes and bars hard in the last year or so, he knew Castiel had all of Dean’s devotion, whether Dean admitted it or not. Dean was almost forty and Castiel a heck of a lot older than that, surely they would figure it out? 

Jack had known it. He’d always known there was something between Dean and Cas, in fact Sam suspected it was the whole reason Jack had brought Cas back from the Empty. Jack had never said, and now he would never be able to tell them the truth. Sam’s chest clenched painfully and he shifted on the seat, trying to let go of his anger and pain.

Castiel’s eyes met Sam’s in the mirror, Sam managed a sad smile, and rolled over to try to go back to sleep. 

In the morning they would sort out this town and be on their way. They could look for Chuck; they could secure the bunker; they weren’t just going to lay down in the dirt and die and rot, just because some God told them so. They’d fight right until the last minute and go down fighting, go on fighting. 

=❤=❤=❤=


	8. Chapter 8

As Dean entered the comic book store with Sam and Cas on his heels, he saw that the aisles were deserted. _I’m all out of love, darling can you hear me?_ the singer sang to a melancholy tune. Comic books were scattered all over the floor and figurines trashed on the shelves. There were growls coming from the back room and an anxious voice trying to pacify them. 

“I’m telling you, we’re out of stock, come on, guys, quit it,” said a familiar voice. Dean's heart gave a startled lurch. Could it be...? The voice shouted, “No, you can’t fight each other for it! Come on, you’re friends.” 

There was the frantic sound of keyboard strokes. 

“Hey, I just wrote that you guys are walking out together all peaceful and forgiving, come on!” The woman sounded almost teary. “Damnit, its not working, we used up all our juice last night! Freaking attendants of Aphrodite, you guys took too much! You promised you wouldn’t! You said just one!” 

There was more growling and then a scream. 

Sam ran with Castiel, Dean following close behind. The scene they came upon was gory. A petite woman was holding a custom broadsword yanked out from the _Game of Thrones_ display, hacking blindly into two lurching zombies with tears in her eyes. 

“I’m not going down without a fight!” she yelled at them, stabbing one in the chest and kicking the other in the groin. “I’m Charlie fucking Bradbury and I write my own endings!” 

By the time Dean reached her, the zombies were laying in pieces on the floor, she looked up and wiped her brow with her sleeve. 

“Hey, gangstas, you miss me?” 

=❤=❤=❤=

“You know I was just in the middle of a very interesting threesome,” Rowena said to Sam when she picked up the phone, “which you interrupted with your phone call. I am sure you can empathize, Sam. Heard through the grapevine you found yourself a Jess and an Eileen.” 

“Mahjong, Rowena?” Sam asked. It was kind of easy to joke around with Rowena after all they’d been through. 

“Oh, you’ll be the death of me, Sam Winchester. Maybe I die laughing,” Rowena said morbidly. “Mahjong takes four. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.” 

Sam cleared his throat, blushing. “I’m calling, Rowena, to ask for a favour. You’re right, we did find all three furies and yes, two of them do have Jessica and Eileen’s form.” 

“And the third is Mary, right?” 

“No, not so much,” Sam said with a smile. “Mom is still up in heaven and safe for now. We uh, we found Charlie.” 

Rowena’s voice barely trembled but Sam could hear the sudden emotion. “Oh, the wee dearie.” 

“She’s a furie now, or a furie is her.”

“Works both ways. The furie has her memories, so it is very much like she is back,” Rowena said. “What can I do, Sam? I would be happy to help however I can. I still feel I let her down last time.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Sam looked at Dean, sitting opposite Charlie and talking to her from across the comic store counter, his face animated, his hand on her shoulder. Of course they'd recently spent time with the apocalypse-world Charlie, but she was harder, battle weary. It was so nice to have _their_ Charlie back, even if it wasn't actually her, so to speak. He focused back on his own conversation. “So you’re right, I do need a favour. The furies have been tricked by some other magical being. A bunch of gods, they say. They lost all their power and now they’re trapped in a town full of zombies that they're losing control of. We’re all going to evacuate and seal the town so no one else accidentally comes here and gets hurt. But the furies need somewhere safe to go to recuperate their powers. They think the gods who bargained with them might decide it would be worth a try to kill them now, while they are weak, before the furies recover and can retaliate.” 

“I know just the coven currently looking for more members,” Rowena said haughtily. “I might be able to have a word with the witch in charge.” 

“Mm-hm,” Sam grinned. “And how many witches does this powerful coven have right now?” 

“One, but a very good one,” Rowena laughed softly. “And what will you do, Sammy boy, when Jessica, Eileen and Charlie are with me? Will you be coming to visit often? We would have enough for... mahjong... then.” 

Sam gave a flustered cough. “I… uh… I gotta help find Chuck. And stop the veil collapsing between worlds too apparently now. But um…” 

“But as soon as you are done saving the worlds you’ll come and play with us, that’s a promise right, Sam?” 

Sam could only blush. 

“I can hear embarrassment... and desire,” Rowena teased. “All right, I’ll text you details of a safe meeting point for the furies and I to congregate. Suppose I must cancel my Mediterranean cruise now. In the meantime, you and your brother and his angel can run off to fend off the father of all apocalypses. But you know, tell the dumbass and the assbutt that maybe they should go for a little detour, some nice one on one time, to get them through all the miscommunication and upsets over Jack? I mean any normal couple would go on a getaway and work on their relationship.” 

Sam hummed in agreement. “Well, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll see if I can find them a hunt or two that’ll give them the time and space to sort that out. But in the meantime, we have an ancient god to kill.” 

=❤=❤=❤=

Charlie lit the candles on the altar one by one. The Church of Eros had fallen into disuse some hundreds of years ago. The furies alone kept the building maintained, renting out the hall for a small return so that the site could be preserved. Charlie was the oldest of the three and the decision to strike the bargain with Erotes had been a reluctant one. Chuck had just unleashed hell, and they had been desperate for a blast of power to ensure the survival of Dean, Sam and Castiel. So they called upon the ancient abandoned gods, the ones they had themselves stopped worshipping millennia ago. The only ones with enough juice for what they needed to do. Then it had been easy to channel the power into Castiel using a simple narrative device. The rest unfolded in the cemetery, where Castiel was able to repel the hell-raised monsters—courtesy of Chuck. The furies had rounded up the rest of the zombies and had carefully harvested the rest of the power accessible to them to try and keep them tame. In return, the Erotes had given them a seed, manifested on the forgotten altar. It had seemed innocuous enough, a tiny grain of love, growing into a pebble as the power of the furies and the Erotes had combined and intermingled. They fed it with creativity dutifully as per the agreed bargain, but of course during their last chant everything had gone awry. The egg grew too quickly, it sapped them of all their strength. They cocooned it as per their agreement, but the Erotes were supposed to patiently wait for the furies to rest and recuperate before trying to manifest a vessel. Now the cocoon was growing at an incredible pace and big enough to contain a human body. The Erotes had betrayed them and Charlie had no idea how she would be able to bring things to balance again. Her entire role in the scheme of things was now redundant. No more balance, no more tidying up, everything was a mess. 

There was only one way to end it. 

Charlie walked alone up to the dais. With the candle in her hand she lit a special bundle of incense, which burned heady and heavy in the air, purple smoke drifting from the tips. The cocoon’s silk recoiled where the smoke passed, shrivelling and withering away. 

The four chairs positioned in a circle along the compass points began to shake, falling over in the sudden gust blowing through the room. The cocoon ripped open down one side, and a man-shaped shadow with shockingly blue eyes appeared in a burst of bright coloured butterflies. He rose from the broken cocoon like a liquid shadow, not completely physically manifested. A mere shadow with vividly alive eyes, a humanoid shape and no other features on his face. He looked around with contempt. 

“Where is Jessica? And Eileen?” 

“Why did you betray us?” Charlie asked bluntly. 

“Betray you? It is not possible for a master to betray his servants,” said the man, beautiful eyes full of tears, scanning the room. He spoke softly, like sighs. 

“We served you faithfully for thousands of years,” Charlie said angrily. “We tidied up diligently. We have been crucial to your survival. We kept the balance and weaved love into the narrative, a little chaos, a little whimsy, wherever we could.” 

“Yes, well, now that the story is ending, seems like less of an important arrangement.” 

“That’s not our fault,” Charlie protested.

“That is precisely your fault. Your constant molly coddling of the mortals, three, well two mortals and one angel in particular, is what unleashed the Nephilim. It is the Nephilim who tore in and out of universes with little regard for the balance of power. And now the veil is thinned out, exhausted, lifting, transmuting to nothing. And all will perish. These creatures you indulge are not masters of their own fate, they are broken and irredeemable. Frankly, they are not interesting enough anymore; they are cancelled.” 

__

“Funny, you sound just like another God, capital G,” Charlie stood her ground. “We quit.” 

__

“Pardon me?” 

__

“We quit—go write your own stories. You make it make sense!” 

__

The god looked at her like she was nothing. He raised his hand and disappeared in a swarm of blue, there were wings and tentacles and sharp teeth inside the maelstrom, it closed in on Charlie, ready to entrap her. 

__

“Not again,” Rowena stepped out from behind the altar. “Let the women be!” 

__

Then Eileen and Jessica ran out of their hiding spots and the four of them joined hands one on each point of the compass. There was some chanting and some shouting in Latin and then the butterflies were on fire and dropping into the ground in a rain of blue flames and ash. 

__

Dean, Sam and Castiel watched in awe from the sidelines, hardly even needed in the ambush. They were smiling.

__

=❤=❤=❤=

__

Charlie plowed into the ice cream sundae. “So that went well. Better story than what The Powers That Be dishes out, from my perspective anyway.” 

__

A vision of the bathtub flashed before Dean’s eyes. He cringed. 

__

“What a woman Charlie Bradbury was. Her death was the most unjust and harrowing of all. She died for nothing, there was no reason she could not have gotten away, but The Powers That Be wanted her gone,” Charlie slammed her fist on the table, her candied cherry toppled from the pile of whipped cream. “But now I’m her and I’m going to write my own stories.” 

__

Jessica and Eileen nodded. “We all are.” 

__

“We’ll keep an eye on you guys and fix what we can,” Charlie nodded at Sam. “But, I hate to cliche you guys like this—bad things are coming.”

__

“The veil that’s lifting, what does that mean?” Dean asked. 

__

“Well you know the multiverse thing, different worlds, apocalypse world, monster world and so on? They are all universes right?” 

__

Castiel nodded. 

__

“Little bubbles, their own little parallel words. What keeps them parallel? The space in between. Negative space, you could call it. That’s the veil. It is thinning out. When it runs out, the universes will end. Plural and applicable to all.” 

__

“That sure makes fighting one apocalypse seem kind of pointless,” Dean said. 

__

“So how do we stop it?” Sam asked. 

__

“Stop it?” Charlie pulled a face. “No how. Can’t. Go have a nice life while you can. We’ll patch up the holes around this universe for as long as we can...maybe keep it alive for a little longer than the others. All the furies in existence, in very verse, will do the same. We’ll keep writing and keep things alive as long as we can. But we are not eternal. Can’t write forever.” 

__

“That’s… bleak,” Dean stated. 

__

“Well, maybe there’ll be a reboot,” Charlie shrugged. “In a millennia or two or infinite. Maybe we can keep things going till then.” 

“Reboots suck,” Eileen signed. 

“I don’t know, this story’s always fought against the odds,” Charlie smiled. “Could turn out all right.” 

__

“We just need enough furies, right?” Jessica said. “So that’s what the three of us are going to do, find all the furies in all the universes and get them onboard with the co-write.” 

__

“It’ll be an interesting ride, imagine the chaos and shenanigans with that many writers in one room,” Rowena said, sipping on her cup of tea regally. 

__

Charlie winked at her. “Could be fun.” 

=❤=❤=❤=

__


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Dean wanted to do once they left the sealed-off zombie town was to grab pizza and a cheap motel, rest, and recover. Sam was eager to agree and Cas too seemed glad for the opportunity for them to regroup and strategize. When Cas had tested his grace again, he’d found he was able to heal Sam’s shoulder fully, much to Sam’s relief.

It was nice to walk into a bar and see people very much living their lives, completely oblivious to the coming chaos. Sam grabbed a booth, while Dean ordered the pizzas and Castiel lined up for the drinks. 

Cas favoured the lower alcohol content beers, though Dean sometimes suspected Cas was trying to convince him to switch over to the watered down stuff. Cas seemed strangely invested in Dean’s health, lately. By the time the food and drinks were done, the three of them were comfortable and content. Sam went outside to call Rowena and check up on the furies’ departure from town. They had stayed behind to seal off the place and wipe it from the map. 

While Sam was gone, Dean fiddled with his napkin on the table. He couldn’t look at Cas, but he needed to say something. “Look, Cas, I know things have been rough lately. The last few weeks especially, with all this… Jack stuff, y’know…”

Cas was watching Dean intently when he glanced up, and it made him feel warm to his toes. He continued, “But we’re in this together now, okay? Whatever the hell Chuck is playing at now, you… you don’t need to leave, or… or anything. Please, stay.”

Castiel’s whole body seemed to tense, his eyes widened. Dean stared at Castiel. There was a strange urge clawing in his chest to try and define the color of Castiel’s eyes. To maybe wax lyrical about it in poetry or song. To maybe find a shirt the same color and wear it to bed. Dean was paralyzed as he peered into Castiel’s eyes, drawn like a moth to the flame. 

“What?” Castiel frowned, a little cross-eyed. 

They were so close, too close, the bench seat hugging in on them, the smell of fragrant garlic and oily cheese and fresh crust making Dean feel warm and loose. 

Dean leaned in and raised his hand and touched Castiel on the corner of his mouth. 

“Tomato sauce,” Dean said, carefully wiping the red stain from Castiel’s face. 

Castiel held still like breathing was optional. Which it probably was for an angel. 

It certainly wasn’t for a human like Dean. He nearly melted as he wiped his thumb over delicate skin and stubble. He could not draw breath until his hand left Castiel’s skin. 

Dean pulled his hand back and inhaled deeply. The spell was broken, though Dean’s thumb still tingled. 

Then Sam was back and the moment was gone. He looked a little paler than when he went to make the call. 

“Rowena got the furies out safely,” Sam said, slumping into the booth. “Might want to order something full strength. After we left, they were working a spell when a tornado ripped through town. All the zombies are dead, as soon as the magical storm touched them they fell to pieces and rotted right into the ground. The furies said it was the pagan gods they were working with ripping up their contract.” 

“Fuckers,” Dean exhaled. “Some of those zombies were still sentient, they were just people with communication problems.”

“I did get a name for them. Rowena told me they are known as the Erotes,” Sam said. “I’ll do some research.”

“Research the fuck out of them,” Dean nodded firmly. 

=❤=❤=❤=

The thing Castiel loved about driving was the way the scenery changed around the periphery of the car. The road was a constant focus, it kept his eyes on the way ahead, a reminder of the importance of his journey. On the sides of it, the colours melded and melted into each other. Fields into buildings, prairies into trees, the towns blurring together, and when the fancy struck them, they could stop for a break at some scenic spot. Dean always stretched or walked around for the first few minutes. Castiel liked to hear the music of his muscles untwining, the soft inaudible clicks and pops of his bones in their sockets, the sound of the air as it circulated the depths of Dean’s lungs and oxygenated his blood. Right now, neither of the Winchesters were stirring. Sam was asleep in the backseat. Dean was dreaming in the passenger seat. The next motel was still miles away. 

When his phone buzzed, he pulled over on the side of the road and looked at the message. 

The message contained a photo of Anael holding one of those blue butterflies that he had seen set aflame. It was how the Erotes manifested. How had Anael known this would attract his attention? There was a line of text below the photograph sent to him. It was in Latin and it contained a relocation spell and a destination. 

Dean was still asleep. Quickly, Castiel typed out a message and emailed it to Dean. Then he leaned over and laid a tiny chaste kiss on Dean’s eyebrow. 

“I won’t be long,” Castiel murmured apologetically. 

When he read the spell out aloud, Castiel vanished from the Impala. 

=❤=❤=❤=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading episode one! Please leave us a comment to tell us what you thought of the story, or of Evelyn's beautiful artwork!
> 
> Next episode:  
>  **[Destiel Fanfic Season 15, Episode 2: Fresh Mistakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856969/)**  
>  Anael transports Castiel to an alternate version of French Mistake Verse where Misha Collins is somehow still alive. There the show Supernatural is in its final season. Castiel must convince the stars of the show to keep going with the series, but Jensen and Misha each have skeletons in their closets.  
> 


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